Post by billthebutcher on Jun 24, 2010 4:22:02 GMT -5
“You’ve been watching too many zombie movies.” The creature leaned back in the chair and locked its hands round one knee. “We aren’t like that at all.”
The man looked around uneasily. The thing across the desk was between him and the door, and the window behind him wasn’t the kind that opened. He was ten floors up anyway, and the building was full of them. “What do you want with us?” he asked.
“Want with you?” The zombie looked like a tall, athletic woman in early middle age. Its skin was marked by the characteristic spidery red zombie rash, caused by the capillaries bursting open when the reanimated heart began pumping again, pushing the partly coagulated blood through deflated vessels. It grinned, its teeth even and regular, evidence of good genes or good orthodontic care. “What should we want with you but to eat you? Don’t you watch the zombie movies?”
“But...” the man gestured helplessly. “You haven’t actually eaten me, have you?”
“I’m not hungry,” said the zombie. It yawned delicately and examined its fingernails. “When the time comes...” Its head snapped up. “Don’t even think of it!”
Carefully, the man lowered himself back into his seat. No way to make a run for it, then.
“I used to be a sprinter,” the zombie said. “I’ve stayed in condition. I’ll bet I’m ten times faster than you.” It grinned. “You, if I may say so, aren’t exactly on the trim side. Too many executive lunches, I suppose?”
“Aren’t zombies supposed to bite and turn everyone they come across?” the man asked, trying to suck in his belly.
“Don’t be silly,” the zombie said, with a laugh. “Do you think we’re so stupid? You’re our food source, damn it. Why would we want to turn you and create more competition for ourselves?”
The man shifted uncomfortably. His eyes went to the door. If he could make the door, he’d try and get to the next room. His boss kept a high-powered hunting rifle in a cupboard in there, and if he could get to it, he’d shoot his way out of the building and down to his car. But in order to have a chance at getting out, he’d have to distract the zombie. Somehow.
“What’s your name?”
“My name?” The zombie seemed to think, leaning its head on one hand. “You can call me Li Meifan,” it decided. “I always wanted to be called Li Meifan.”
“But you aren’t Chinese!”
“So? I’m not anything. I’m not even alive, you idiot!”
“All right,” the man said, placating, “Li Meifan.”
“Li Meifan of the Sharks,” the zombie said. “We’re the Shark Clan.”
“Shark...Clan?” The man could hardly believe his ears. “What clan?”
“One of our zombies was a former gang member, and he said it’s a nice name for the clan.” The zombie blinked. “Oh, I see what you mean: you don’t understand about clans. Why, of course we zombies have clans. How else could we preserve our food sources? We’d have zombies streaming in from everywhere and eating all you people, and then where would we be?”
“But...you’ll end up eating us all anyway, right? And then you won’t have any food.”
“You’ve been watching too many zombie movies,” ‘Li Meifan’ repeated. “We’ll gather food for you; meat animals need fodder, don’t they? We’ll even breed you, when necessary.”
The man swallowed drily. “Breed us? Meat animals?” He began to shiver.
“What’s happened to you?” The zombie leaned across the desk and peered at him. “Scared? Don’t be; we aren’t going to eat you right away. You have to be fattened a bit more first. You don’t look tender enough yet.”
“But you’ll still eat me. And I’m scared.”
“I told you, don’t worry. You’ve been watching too many zombie movies. We don’t exactly enjoy eating people alive and screaming. When the time comes, we’ll slaughter you most humanely and as nearly painlessly as possible.” It stretched. “Well, if you’ve calmed down, I suggest we go down to the holding pens.”
“All right,” said the man, and stood up. Slowly, he walked around the side of the desk, the zombie walking just behind him. Even in its flat shoes, it was as tall as he was, and probably stronger. He had no problem believing its contention that it stayed in trim.
“After you,” said the zombie courteously, opening the door.
“Thanks.” The man walked past the zombie, and whirled, slamming the door on it. The zombie went tumbling to the floor. Without waiting to see any more, the man sprinted for the next room. The door stood ajar, and he threw himself inside, racing for the cupboard. It was not locked, and he yanked it open and grabbed the rifle off its hooks. There was a box of bullets conveniently just below it. Working the bolt, he slipped a cartridge into the breech and turned as the zombie came in, snarling and spitting.
“Eat this,” said the man, and shot it through the head. The zombie fell over backwards, brain matter spraying on the wall. The man turned to reload. He was still jamming bullets into the magazine when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Irresistibly strong, it spun him around.
“Now you’ve got me annoyed,” said the zombie. Clotting blood and liquefied brains dripped down its cheek. “Shoot me, will you?”
“You’re supposed to be dead!” wailed the man, the gun dropping from his hands. “I shot you through the head!”
“I am dead,” confirmed the zombie. “How can you kill something that’s already dead?”
“But in the movies –“
“You’ve been watching too many zombie movies,” said the zombie, and moved in for the kill.
The man looked around uneasily. The thing across the desk was between him and the door, and the window behind him wasn’t the kind that opened. He was ten floors up anyway, and the building was full of them. “What do you want with us?” he asked.
“Want with you?” The zombie looked like a tall, athletic woman in early middle age. Its skin was marked by the characteristic spidery red zombie rash, caused by the capillaries bursting open when the reanimated heart began pumping again, pushing the partly coagulated blood through deflated vessels. It grinned, its teeth even and regular, evidence of good genes or good orthodontic care. “What should we want with you but to eat you? Don’t you watch the zombie movies?”
“But...” the man gestured helplessly. “You haven’t actually eaten me, have you?”
“I’m not hungry,” said the zombie. It yawned delicately and examined its fingernails. “When the time comes...” Its head snapped up. “Don’t even think of it!”
Carefully, the man lowered himself back into his seat. No way to make a run for it, then.
“I used to be a sprinter,” the zombie said. “I’ve stayed in condition. I’ll bet I’m ten times faster than you.” It grinned. “You, if I may say so, aren’t exactly on the trim side. Too many executive lunches, I suppose?”
“Aren’t zombies supposed to bite and turn everyone they come across?” the man asked, trying to suck in his belly.
“Don’t be silly,” the zombie said, with a laugh. “Do you think we’re so stupid? You’re our food source, damn it. Why would we want to turn you and create more competition for ourselves?”
The man shifted uncomfortably. His eyes went to the door. If he could make the door, he’d try and get to the next room. His boss kept a high-powered hunting rifle in a cupboard in there, and if he could get to it, he’d shoot his way out of the building and down to his car. But in order to have a chance at getting out, he’d have to distract the zombie. Somehow.
“What’s your name?”
“My name?” The zombie seemed to think, leaning its head on one hand. “You can call me Li Meifan,” it decided. “I always wanted to be called Li Meifan.”
“But you aren’t Chinese!”
“So? I’m not anything. I’m not even alive, you idiot!”
“All right,” the man said, placating, “Li Meifan.”
“Li Meifan of the Sharks,” the zombie said. “We’re the Shark Clan.”
“Shark...Clan?” The man could hardly believe his ears. “What clan?”
“One of our zombies was a former gang member, and he said it’s a nice name for the clan.” The zombie blinked. “Oh, I see what you mean: you don’t understand about clans. Why, of course we zombies have clans. How else could we preserve our food sources? We’d have zombies streaming in from everywhere and eating all you people, and then where would we be?”
“But...you’ll end up eating us all anyway, right? And then you won’t have any food.”
“You’ve been watching too many zombie movies,” ‘Li Meifan’ repeated. “We’ll gather food for you; meat animals need fodder, don’t they? We’ll even breed you, when necessary.”
The man swallowed drily. “Breed us? Meat animals?” He began to shiver.
“What’s happened to you?” The zombie leaned across the desk and peered at him. “Scared? Don’t be; we aren’t going to eat you right away. You have to be fattened a bit more first. You don’t look tender enough yet.”
“But you’ll still eat me. And I’m scared.”
“I told you, don’t worry. You’ve been watching too many zombie movies. We don’t exactly enjoy eating people alive and screaming. When the time comes, we’ll slaughter you most humanely and as nearly painlessly as possible.” It stretched. “Well, if you’ve calmed down, I suggest we go down to the holding pens.”
“All right,” said the man, and stood up. Slowly, he walked around the side of the desk, the zombie walking just behind him. Even in its flat shoes, it was as tall as he was, and probably stronger. He had no problem believing its contention that it stayed in trim.
“After you,” said the zombie courteously, opening the door.
“Thanks.” The man walked past the zombie, and whirled, slamming the door on it. The zombie went tumbling to the floor. Without waiting to see any more, the man sprinted for the next room. The door stood ajar, and he threw himself inside, racing for the cupboard. It was not locked, and he yanked it open and grabbed the rifle off its hooks. There was a box of bullets conveniently just below it. Working the bolt, he slipped a cartridge into the breech and turned as the zombie came in, snarling and spitting.
“Eat this,” said the man, and shot it through the head. The zombie fell over backwards, brain matter spraying on the wall. The man turned to reload. He was still jamming bullets into the magazine when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Irresistibly strong, it spun him around.
“Now you’ve got me annoyed,” said the zombie. Clotting blood and liquefied brains dripped down its cheek. “Shoot me, will you?”
“You’re supposed to be dead!” wailed the man, the gun dropping from his hands. “I shot you through the head!”
“I am dead,” confirmed the zombie. “How can you kill something that’s already dead?”
“But in the movies –“
“You’ve been watching too many zombie movies,” said the zombie, and moved in for the kill.
